Up in the VIP combatant zone, Alex stood frozen—his eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat.
He had watched it all.
The way that thin net of flame had sliced through Grugrim.
It wasn't like a raging fireball. Not like a chaotic explosion.
It was surgical.
Precise.
Silent.
Deadly.
Then came the moment where everything stopped.
The crowd.
The wind.
Even the dust hanging in the air.
Time itself seemed to hold its breath.
Grugrim still stood, the grin plastered across his blood-smeared face.
Motionless.
Almost… peaceful.
Then—
SCHLICK.
That sound—quiet but sharp, like a knife carving raw meat.
And red lines began to form.
Horizontal.
Vertical.
Diagonal.
Like a butcher's wire net pulled tight, crisscrossing his entire body.
Then, gravity did the rest.
FLOP.
Grugrim's body fell apart into neat chunks—each one landing with a wet, soft thud.
The noise echoed too long in the arena.
Like someone had dropped slabs of meat onto stone.
Over and over.
